Mirrored Desires
by amyxaphania
Summary: What if the Mirror of Erised didn't only show your hearts desire, but let you step into a world where they are reality? Join Harry, Ron and Hermione as they stumble upon the answer. ABANDONED
1. Stepping Into the Mirror

A/N: This will be a four or five chaptered fic. It's a response to Ashka's challenge on the HPFF forums. Enjoy :)

** Mirrored Desires **

**Chapter One**

"So what now?" Hermione asked, sighing as she sat down at the table in the small hotel room.

"I've been thinking we should perhaps go back to Hogwarts," Harry replied from his seat on the mouldy old sofa, "it might be a long shot but it's possible Voldemort may have hidden a Horcrux there."

It was nearing the end of October, and they'd been looking for the Horcruxes since the end of July. They'd left The Burrow the day after Bill and Fleur's wedding, at first travelling to Godric's Hollow as planned, and then going to Albania in September to look for any clues as to the whereabouts of the Horcruxes.

So far, they'd had no luck. Every lead they thought they'd found turned out to be false, and Harry was beginning to get annoyed with himself and with the task he had to fulfil.

"Will they let us back into Hogwarts?" Ron asked curiously, "It's shut."

"I know," Harry said, "but it's a place that would have been important to Voldemort. We can't leave it as a possibility that he _won't_ have hidden one there."

"I suppose," Ron replied, "how will we do it? Through one of the secret passages?"

"Yes," Harry mused, "the one from the Shrieking Shack might be best. We also ought to go at night, less chance of being discovered."

"Do you think there's still people at Hogwarts?" Hermione put in, "Guards or something? I don't think they'd leave it completely empty, there's too many valuable things there."

"Well there's only one way to find out," Harry said grimly, "we'll just have to go and look. We'll go tomorrow night."

&&&

Luckily for the three friends, the next night was overcast and gloomy. The clouds provided the perfect cover for moving through Hogsmeade unseen, but Harry still insisted that they put disillusionment charms on themselves; it couldn't hurt to be too careful.

Since leaving in July, they'd had no contact with any of the Order or the Weasley's, and that was how Harry wanted it to stay. He knew they were probably worried sick about them, but that couldn't be helped. If they were going to do this, they needed to keep it a secret – if Voldemort somehow found out they were trying to destroy his Horcruxes the consequences would be disastrous.

Still, Harry couldn't help but feel a longing for it all to be over. He wanted to end this, and soon. He wanted to be able to be with his friends like any other teenager, not having to worry about disillusionment charms and the fact that an evil megalomaniac wanted to kill him.

But for the moment, that was the way life was, and if he wanted the life of freedom at the other end, they'd have to keep going, keep trying to find ways of defeating Voldemort.

They were nearing the Shrieking Shack by this point, walking in silence, eyes alert. The night was still, the only sounds to be heard the hooting of an owl in the distance, and the scurrying of a fox in the hedgerow. The abandoned house rose tall and shadowy in the gloom, looking very much like something out of one of those horror films Dudley used to watch.

The door to the shack was old and falling from its hinges, so it wasn't hard to get inside. Once there, they made their way to the room that held the trapdoor, and still in silence, they lowered themselves into the hole in the floor.

"What do we do if there're Auror's crawling all over the school?" Ron whispered as they made their way down the rocky tunnel.

"Try and get past them," Harry replied, "but I don't think there will be. The Auror's have got far much more to do nowadays than patrol an empty school."

Nearing the end of the tunnel, Harry began to feel a little apprehensive about returning to Hogwarts. The last time he was there, it had been the day after Dumbledore's funeral, just before they were sent home.

Pushing the knot in the whomping willow, and climbing out of the passageway, he felt a wave of sadness overcome him as he looked up at the great castle and across its grounds.

Everything was still, no breeze to rustle the leaves of the trees and no students out after bedtime. It was eerie, and made Harry feel uneasy.

"Come on," he muttered to Ron and Hermione, "let's see if we can get in."

He led his friends not to the front doors of the school, but to an entrance on the west side of the castle. It was an entrance he and Ginny had found when they'd been taking a stroll in the grounds last summer. Half covered with ivy and not visible at first glance, they'd discovered that it led up to a small, dusty sitting room tucked away in the west wing of the castle.

Harry remembered how he'd checked the Marauder's Map and found no mention of it, and how he'd felt a strange feeling of pride that he'd found a secret passage that his Father had not.

At the time, he'd not told Ron and Hermione about the passage, he hadn't wanted to as the sitting room had provided the perfect place for he and Ginny to escape to when they wanted some time alone.

Pushing aside the ivy and lifting the latch, Harry was glad to find that the door wasn't locked in any other way, coming to the conclusion that no one else knew about it. Ron looked a little peeved that Harry hadn't told him about this entrance, but allowed Harry to lead them up the stairs without too much fuss.

When they entered the sitting room, Harry was surprised to find he was hit with a strong wave of nostalgia. Surprised, because it had only been five months or so since he and Ginny had come here. He was also hit by the sharp feeling of longing for her, something that happened nearly every day, but that he always tried to push away.

But now, here in this room where they'd whiled away lazy Sunday afternoons, kissing and talking and just being together, the feeling was almost overpowering.

But they had a task to do, and so he once more pushed the feeling away and left the sitting room, coming out onto the landing of the third floor. The door to the room was hidden behind a large tapestry, which he pulled back into place before peering around.

"Where to now?" Ron asked.

"Well, I had the idea that we could try and talk to the Sorting Hat," Harry replied, his voice just above a whisper, "the hat will have seen inside Tom Riddle's head, it may be able to help us."

"That's a good idea," Hermione said, sounding slightly annoyed that she hadn't thought of it herself, "but you know that'll mean trying to get into Dumbledore's office?"

"I know," Harry replied, "and we probably won't be able to get up there."

He didn't add that he wasn't even sure if he wanted to go into Dumbledore's office. But, nevertheless, it was a plan and so they began to make their way down the many staircases.

Everything in the school looked the same, the portraits on the walls, the empty classrooms that they passed with parchment still on the desks and equipment still lining the walls.

Although he'd walked through the school late at night like this before, he'd never been struck with such a sense of unease before. Back then, he'd always encountered one of the school ghosts or seen a prefect out doing their rounds. But now…now this emptiness was overbearing, unsettling.

He could tell that Ron and Hermione were feeling the same way; Hermione looked worried and had kept a deathlike grip on Ron's hand ever since they'd left the sitting room, and Ron's face was pale, his freckles standing out starkly on his fair skin.

Finally, they reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, and it was here that Harry almost faltered, doubts creeping into his mind. But he forced them aside, and glanced at Ron and Hermione for reassurance, before speaking the password that he'd last seen Dumbledore use. Half expecting it not to work, he was a little surprised to hear the grating noise of the gargoyle moving aside, and so when the moving staircase appeared, he stared at it dumbly for several moments before Hermione nudged him slightly and he stepped onto it.

"This is strange," Ron muttered as they neared the top, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione elbow him in the ribs.

"It's all right, Hermione," he reassured, "it _is_ strange."

All of a sudden, the stairs stopped moving. They had reached the top. With bated breath, Harry reached for the handle and pushed the heavy door open. It creaked loudly, as though it hadn't been opened for a while, and then they were standing in the office.

It looked the same as the last time Harry had been there, just like everything else in the empty school. Dumbledore's peculiar instruments still lined the shelves, his pensieve was still in its locked cabinet, and the Sorting Hat, what they wanted to find, was still standing tall and proud.

Harry tried not to look at the portrait of Dumbledore, but his eyes were drawn there anyway. He didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed that the old headmaster was still sleeping in his frame, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

"So are we going to try and talk to the Sorting Hat?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded, and moved across to the other side of the room. He was about to reach up and lift it down from the shelf, when something on the other side of the room caught his eye. It was half-hidden in an alcove, not immediately visible if you weren't looking at the right angle, but it was definitely there.

Lowering his hand, he began to walk towards it, his eyes fixed and dazed.

"Harry?" Ron asked, "What is it?"

"Look," Harry breathed, "over there."

Ron and Hermione came to stand next to him, and they too looked into the alcove.

"The Mirror of Erised!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yes," Harry replied, moving closer, "but it's not the same."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, "It's definitely the mirror, look, there's the inscription '_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'_."

"No, it's the same mirror," Harry said, now standing in front of it, "but it's different. I can only see my reflection."

"But…it's supposed to show your inner desires," Hermione said, "from what you told me in First Year and from what I've read, it always shows your inner desires. There's no way of switching it on and off, or anything like that."

By now, all three were standing before the mirror, gazing at their reflections in its glassy surface.

Harry reached out and touched the ornate gold frame, but jerked his hand away as though it had been burned.

"What happened?" Ron asked.

"It…there's some sort of magical charge around it…painful to touch." Harry replied, and was about to tear his gaze away from the mirror when its surface began to ripple, their reflections blurring as the glass undulated slowly.

"What's happening to it?" Hermione asked, her voice sounding slightly scared.

"I don't know," murmured Harry distractedly, as he reached his hand out to touch the rippled surface.

"Don't!" Hermione shouted, reaching out to try and stop Harry from touching the glass.

Harry ignored her, and carried on reaching towards the mirror. There was something entrancing, enticing about it, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. And then, suddenly, his fingers touched the rippling glass, and sank into its surface. His whole hand was now inside the mirror somehow, and it was only then that Harry seemed to snap out of whatever enchantment he'd been under, and tried to pull his hand away.

But he found he couldn't, it was stuck, and then he felt something pulling him through, something pulling on his hand from somewhere within the mirror, and the last thing he heard before being entirely engulfed by the undulating ripples, was the sound of Hermione screaming his name.

&&&

A/N: Thanks for reading and please review!


	2. Harry

Chapter Two - Harry 

"James? James! Get back in here right now! And put Arnold down! He is _not_ a football!"

Harry groaned, and opened his eyes groggily, raising a hand to his pounding head. He didn't know what had happened. One moment, he'd been in Dumbledore's office with Ron and Hermione, looking into the Mirror of Erised, the next, he had woken up here, wherever 'here' was.

It was summer, that was certain, bright sunlight had assaulted his eyes when he'd opened them and a warm breeze had lifted strands of his hair.

"Gin? Did you see where Maddy put the presents when we arrived?"

Harry heard a familiar voice calling out to someone, and he slowly sat up, trying to piece together what had happened in his muddled mind. Looking around, he could see he was in the garden of someone's house, a rather large garden in fact, sitting beneath the wide branches of an oak tree.

There was a big, but not overly large house at one end of the garden, and what appeared to be a small lake (or a big pond) at the other. Still blinking in the bright sunlight, he glanced over to where he thought he'd heard the voice, and was shocked to see a man who looked like Ron, standing next to a trestle table laden with gaily wrapped presents.

Scrambling to his feet, he pulled his wand from his pocket and held it out in front of him. The person looked like Ron, but much older, and Harry still didn't know where he was or what was happening – it could be a Death Eater in disguise for all he knew.

But the man hadn't seemed to notice the messy-haired teenager standing beneath the oak tree, and so Harry edged around to the other side, pressing his back up against the bark, but keeping his head tilted so he could see what was going on.

"Uncle Ron!" A child's voice sounded in the garden, and a small black-haired boy raced across the grass into the man's open arms.

"Hey there, birthday boy!" The man replied, swinging the toddler into his arms. The boy giggled and swatted at the man's – Ron's – face.

Harry didn't know what to make of it. He felt light-headed, and something about where he was didn't seem real. Maybe when he'd stepped through the mirror, he'd hit his head and was unconscious, dreaming.

But if it was a dream, it was one of the most bizarre he'd ever had. Peering around the tree again, he could now see an older Hermione, sitting on a garden chair, a small baby cradled in her arms.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were there too, both looking a lot older than normal, their hair grey and faces wrinkled. Harry turned back around and tried to work out what was going on.

It didn't seem like a dream. In a dream, you weren't able to feel the wind running its fingers through your hair, nor smell the freshly cut grass. In a dream, you couldn't feel the pounding of your head, or the stinging cut on your leg.

No, this wasn't a dream. Harry was still pondering over where he was when he heard a child's shout and light footsteps running towards him. The little boy he'd seen before rounded the tree, chasing what looked like a ball of purple fluff.

"James! Bring Arnold back here immediately!"

Harry held his breath, wondering why the little boy hadn't called out, why he didn't seem to see Harry.

"But Mummy," the boy called back, "he likes it when I chase him!"

And then the little boy turned and looked directly at where Harry was standing, but his eyes slid past, as though he hadn't seen him, and then he laughed and ran back into the main part of the garden.

Harry let out his breath. The boy hadn't been able to see him, this meant he could go around without worrying too much. He wasn't sure why he was too concerned about being discovered. These were people he knew, albeit a little older, but they were his friends.

And so he edged around the tree, placing his wand back into his pocket, and walked boldly across the lawn to where everyone was sitting.

James, the little boy, was sitting on the lap of a redheaded woman – Ginny. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. She looked beautiful; the sunlight highlighting the auburn in her hair, her expression one of happiness and laughter.

It was hard to take his eyes from her, but he did, looking at the other people seated around the garden. Ron, now holding the baby, was seated next to Hermione. His two friends didn't look much different; Ron had a shadow of stubble on his chin and Hermione's hair was shorter, but that was about it.

The sunlight glinting on a band of gold on Ron's finger drew his attention, and he saw a matching one on Hermione's hand. They were married, and that must be their baby.

Sitting on a picnic blanket on the grass were Bill and Fleur, and a girl with long silvery hair who looked around seven-years-old. Harry frowned; quickly trying to work out how many years into the future this dream – or whatever it was – was taking place. He guessed at around eight years from the present.

Glancing quickly around at the other people in the garden, he saw Fred and George near the pond, playing a game of cricket with a woman Harry didn't recognise and two little girls.

Sitting in the shade underneath the branches of a willow tree near the pond was a heavily pregnant Tonks, and seated next to her a greying Remus.

Harry smiled, everyone looked so happy. But then something hit him. Where was he? Where was the older-Harry? Everyone else was here…but he was not. Had something happened to him in the war?

Had everyone moved on without him? It was a strange feeling, and an unpleasant one, to think of everyone sitting happily around at Ginny's son's birthday party and he was not there.

Suddenly he didn't feel like he wanted to be in this place anymore. He wanted to leave, to get back to Dumbledore's office, back to his friends. But how? At that present moment, there didn't seem to be any way of getting back.

Sighing, he knew he'd just have to wait it out, to see what happened. He sat down on the grass, just outside the gathering of chairs, and listened to the buzz of conversation.

He half-listened to Mr Weasley telling an anecdote about a Muggle, a jam jar and a silencing spell, idly plucking at blades of grass, but it was only when he heard his own name did he listen properly.

"Where's Harry?" Ron asked, "I would have thought he'd be back by now."

A flood of relief filled Harry's veins – he wasn't dead, just out somewhere. He was so relieved to know this, that he missed half of Ginny's answer.

"-be back soon, he fire-called earlier to say he'd be late."

"That's good," Mrs Weasley replied, "wouldn't do to miss his own son's birthday party!"

At those words, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat again, and he looked at the little boy, now sitting on the grass, stroking Arnold the pygmy puff. That was his son, his flesh and blood. Harry was becoming more and more convinced that this wasn't a dream, and some sort of…vision of the future.

Now he looked at the boy, he could see his own features in the boy's face – his nose, his mouth, his hair. It was a peculiar feeling, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment slide over him – if this was his future, well, it wasn't looking so bad.

He leaned back on his arms, feeling the sunlight warm his face, ready to watch the rest of the day's events.

&&&

About fifteen minutes later, during which time Harry had simply watched everyone, he heard a door shutting from inside the house, and sat up eagerly. Was this his future self arriving at the birthday party?

He watched the sliding doors that led out onto the patio, and saw a man with black hair walking through them and into the garden. Harry watched in fascination; he didn't look much different, a little taller perhaps, and broader across the chest, but pretty much the same.

James let out a delighted shriek and dropped Arnold, before running across the lawn into the open arms of his Father.

"Daddy!" He said, as older-Harry lifted him up, "I thought you were going to miss my birthday party!"

"Never!"

"Can we open presents now?" James asked, excitedly.

"Have you asked Mummy?" Older-Harry replied, setting his son down on the floor, and taking his hand as they walked over to the group.

Harry watched as his future-self greeted his wife with a kiss, said hello to everyone else, and then told James to sit down whilst he fetched over the presents.

James opened his presents, with exclamations of glee as he unwrapped a child's broomstick, a toy wand that became a rubber lizard when waved (from Fred, of course), and some chocolate frogs amongst many others.

By the time he'd finished opening his presents, the garden was strewn with wrapping paper, and Hermione was attempting to get James to read the book she and Ron had bought for him. However, the little boy was more interested in playing with his broomstick, a present from his parents.

Harry watched happily from his position on the grass, as his older self helped James climb onto the small broomstick, and then held him steady as it hovered about twelve inches from the ground.

Meanwhile, Ginny was clearing up the wrapping paper with her wand, sending it flying into a bin liner, Molly and Arthur were chatting with Remus and Tonks, and Fred and George had resumed their game of cricket.


End file.
